The loneliness had been almost unbearable. But then she discovered the semi-official submarine wives’ organization. Years before, recognizing that they all faced the same fears and loneliness, the wives of each boat had naturally banded together for mutual support. Unofficially led by the captain’s wife and the chief-of-the-boat’s wife, they helped each other through life’s trials, whether it was the broken-down car, the stopped-up plumbing or a sick child. Peg first learned how to survive and then to thrive in this environment. The network of support was comforting and the time spent helping the other wives was fulfilling.
As the girls, Megan and Maggie, were growing up and Jon was advancing to more senior responsibilities, the fears never totally disappeared, always lurking in the background. He was riding the fast attack boats. She knew he was out playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek with the Soviets, but the veil of secrecy prevented him from sharing any part of it with her. She drew some comfort from knowing that the job was important and their sacrifice was maintaining a precarious but precious peace.
There would be no sleep tonight, she knew from long experience. There never was on the nights that he departed. Too much to worry about and no one to share it with. He had told her this was a weekly op, but she knew better. Jon never said a word about it, but she sensed his tension. This was important and probably dangerous. She was so afraid and so tired of being the always strong, always persevering one; the one that everyone leaned on. Didn’t they see how weak and scared she really was? She was the “Captain’s Wife” and all the wives depended on her. The young wives, some barely old enough to drive, looked to her for advice and support.
Peg walked inside, and aimlessly puttered around, preparing for this afternoon’s Mah Jongg game. The submarine officer wives made the weekly game a tradition. The clicking tiles and conversations were comforting. They made the time pass.
She would have to be careful, though. Brenda Calucci and several CO's wives were expected. Never could tell who knew what or what they would tell their husbands.
Might as well put on a pot of coffee and bake some brownies for this afternoon. She hoped that she could put up a good front. Her wives would need her.
26 May 2000, 2215LT (1415Z)
Mjecka screamed.
His dark, angular face was contorted by the terrible agony. His only world was a living cauldron of pain. He suffered with all his senses. The white hot flashes filled his vision; the screams flooded his hearing. He even knew the taste of pain.
He had no idea who or where he was, only the constant torment. He screamed again, barely more than a gasp. His strength was waning. Death would soon bring a welcome soothing relief to his agony.
Admiral Suluvana stepped back from the observation window. A thin smile flitted briefly across his dark face. The demonstration had gone well. The wretch in the sealed room was only the first of many to feel his wrath, his power. The group of idiots in Jakarta would bend to his will, at last. Just before they too died.
Dr. Aswal sidled up beside the admiral. "Did you enjoy the demonstration, Admiral? Did it meet your expectations?"
Suluvana turned toward the swarthy little biologist, tearing his eyes away from the window. "It looks promising. You say that he was exposed yesterday?"
"Twenty hours ago." Beads of sweat popped out on Aswal's brow. The admiral's icy glare unnerved him. "He was symptomatic in three hours and incapacitated within six. This new strain is magic. The human interleukin-4 gene we inserted in the virus makes it completely resistant to any vaccine. To think, this came from research for a mouse contraceptive."
The scientist almost smiled. "We simply substituted smallpox for mousepox."
The admiral silently turned on his heel and walked out of the cave. Stepping aboard his private helicopter, Suluvana punched the buttons on his cell phone. When it was answered he began to talk. "All is well at the site. We will have enough for a first delivery in a month. Testing confirms that the product is better than expected. The Australians saved us years of research. The genetically engineered smallpox is more deadly than we thought, far better than that Iraqi camel pox.”
Half a world away, deep in the Libyan Desert, Mustaf al Shatar listened to the admiral's report. “Good, very good,” Mustaf said. “We must discuss the delivery options. I am looking at demanding a ten billion dollar payment for not delivering the virus. Our Chinese partners agree. It will be most interesting to watch the world leaders trying to bargain on this."
Suluvana grunted his approval. Mustaf’s description delighted him.
"Now, what about our guests?” Mustaf asked.
He raged inwardly. They were so close to delivery, so close to all his dreams, so close to making the world pay for what they did to his family. These amateur idiots risk everything on some stupid do-gooders on a rust bucket tramp steamer! Fools! Must he always be saddled with working through such people? But, it would not be good for others to see him so agitated and, besides, Admiral Suluvana was such a head-strong prima donna.
“They are comfortable in quarantine. The engine on their ship failed and they drifted to the island. We have them all in a separate facility. They didn't see anything.
